


I'd Like to Know You

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Coming Out, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Lesbian Character, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Pre-Relationship, Zoe doesn't even have a line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: “I would like to know your nameShow you what I’m all about and you can do the sameI’d like to know youWanna be there in your view.”..Misty, dealing with budding feelings for her Supreme,  befriends Kyle while Cordelia is away on a Coven-related business trip.





	I'd Like to Know You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrotstix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrotstix/gifts).



> This story is based of my belief that Misty and Kyle would be best friends and you can't stop me from entertaining the idea, and for Andy (Carrotstix) and his love of Kyle. 
> 
> Rated for some swearing. 
> 
> Song - In Your View, by Emilie Mover

 

_“I would like to know your name_

_Show you what I’m all about and you can do the same_

_I’d like to know you_

_Wanna be there in your view.”_

..

 

“Are you sure I can’t come with, Miss ‘Delia?” Misty’s pout, her lower lip jutted out and her arms crossed - her shawl folding over itself - it’s all so very childish, considering her age and her power. But still, Cordelia smirks at it, her hands tugging at the zipper of the suitcase Misty sits on top of, weighting the clothes inside down. “I won’t be any trouble.”

 

“ _You_ need to stay here, and take care of our herbalism classes,” Cordelia reminds her, her makeup already done; slacks ironed and blouse spritzed with perfume. The floral fragrance floats after her like a trail, making Misty light headed as she leans over her, reaching for the other side of her baggage. “Besides, you don’t like flying. I’m going to be on a plane for three hours straight.”

 

“ _But-”_

 

“ _Misty,_ ” Cordelia says her name (she likes the way it sounds, coming from her, the slight lisp in her speech, the way it makes Cordelia smile), stands in front of Misty and lets one palm rest on her shoulder, concern suddenly masking her features. _Her hand,_ Misty blushes squirms under the warmth of it, “Is there a reason you don’t want me to leave?”

 

_There’s so many,_ Misty wants to tell her, _who’s going to answer your bedroom door when I knock on it after a nightmare?_ The light from the window, royal blue curtains pulled back and tied with fancy, golden braided tassels, it makes Cordelia’s hair seem blonder, makes Misty’s throat too dry as sunshine pools in the dark brown of her irises. _Who’s going to tell me everything’s okay?_

 

So she settles on the simplest one, the worry that will bring the least amount of embarrassment - something better than _I’m going to miss your voice -_ “I’m goin’ to be awful lonely, in this big house.”

 

“Madison will be here.” Cordelia tries, but the frown tugs at the corners of her lips just as quickly as Misty mirrors it. “ _So,_ maybe she wasn’t the best choice.” Cordelia breathes in, smooths her hands down Misty’s biceps, as much comforting her as she is herself, “There’s plenty of girls in this academy, even if most of the students returned home for summer break. I’m sure you’ll get along with at least one of them.”

 

(Misty’s not sure she will; teenage girls are - after all - _teenage girls._ She might be only a few years older than some of the coven’s additions, but a world’s difference separates Misty and the students of Miss Robichaux's.)

 

Cordelia though, Cordelia’s _too_ kind, and Misty would feel terrible if she missed her big, fancy gala in New York City just because she’s too scared to sleep alone, to _be_ alone. So she meets Cordelia’s worried eyes, nods her head solemnly and tries to make her smile genuine. It only feels real, when Cordelia’s own grin grows at her affirmation,

 

“I’ll be just fine.”

 

..

_“I would like to be your pal_

_Show you all the ins and outs and you can show me how_

_To get to know you_

_How to be there in your view.”_

_.._

 

The first night it turns out, is not _fine._ The lamp on her bedside table can’t turn on fast enough, her clammy fingers struggling to twist the switch. _I don’t wanna kill a living thing,_ Misty’s own voice rings in her ears, like a bell still vibrating with sound as her eyes blink open. Tears cling to the tips of her eyelashes, blurring the poster of _Stevie Nicks_ tacked to the ceiling above her bed.

 

Usually cool to the touch sheets are heated with from her tossing and turning - Misty’s fingers tremble as she grips the fabric in her hands, bunching it up and lifting it to her mouth. Biting down on the cotton, blue-grey eyes screw shut and she whimpers.

 

_Don’t make me call your parents._ The vision of her daddy’s belt, the sting of her mother’s palm; the chorus of their disappointment blends, it all swirls with her own sorrowful sobs. Muffled through her sheets, toes curling in her blankets.

 

Misty’s feet pad loudly on the hardwood as she swings her knees over the side of her bed, _I need Miss Cordelia,_ she thinks. But Cordelia not _here_ , she’s far away. Still, like muscle memory, her legs carry her out into the hall. Fleece pajama pants with alligators printed onto the fabric - a gift from Cordelia - swishing around her ankles.There’s three doors in between their rooms, one turn. Her fingertips graze against the wall, dragging along the surface as a grounding method. _I’ll just sleep in there,_ her mind reasons, _she’d understand._

 

Her thoughts are so preoccupied, too focused on the dilemma if Cordelia would be okay with her entering her room without her there - curling up in her bedclothes, embracing the familiar scents and surroundings. _Maybe_ she can just about imagine Cordelia is there with her. Misty doesn’t even _notice_ she’s bumped into someone until the impact sends her toppling back, falling on her rear in the middle of the dark hallway.

 

She can feel the bruises that will surely darken by the time the sun rises, the shock of the fall sending a painful jolt up her spine. Misty squeaks, groans as she looks up at the solid form that’s sent her to the floor. It’s dark, only the window letting in moonlight at the end of the hall providing an outline. Misty knows the size though, the build, the blond cowlick on top of his head that defies the natural wave of the rest of his hair. She blinks, reality crashes down around her like a bucket of ice. No frogs, no angry parents, no teachers with rough hands.

 

“Kyle?” She leans forward, the ends of her own messy  curls tickling her exposed arms as she peers up at him in the dark, “What are you doin’ up?”

 

If he hears the nasally quality to her voice, the congestion in her nose from crying, Kyle doesn’t remark on it. Instead the steadiness of his hands come down and grab her under the arms, but the wordless action is hardly _scary - he wouldn’t hurt a horse fly if it bit him,_ Misty thinks, as she’s heaved up, back onto her feet.

 

“Couldn’t sleep.” He mumbles, _always mumbling._ Kyle’s come a long way since she first met him, all stitched up but falling apart - but there’s still hints of his struggles. Speech, one of them. Sometimes, his hands miss when he grabs for something, or he’ll get a _look_ in his eyes, like he’s not all there. “Zoe’s gone.”

 

_Zoe,_ Misty repeats in her head, smiles as she thinks of them together. Kyle _loves_ Zoe, like two love birds all cuddled up in the branches of their nest, it makes Misty ache somewhere deep in her chest, the cavity which warms at the faintness hint of Cordelia’s affection. She doesn’t really know what the means, and she’s too scared to think it through. “She’s in New York, with Miss ‘Delia.”

 

“Yeah.” Kyle remembers, “Too quiet. She snores, all the time.”

 

Misty snorts, whatever lingering trembles from her nightmare subsiding as she grins in the dark; “Cordelia snores too.” It leaves her before she can bite her tongue, but as soon as the comment leaves her lips, her entire body bristles. Nobody knows of her nighttime visits to the Coven’s supreme, and she isn’t sure she wants them to just yet.

 

(The idea of everyone _knowing_ she shares Cordelia’s bed is frightening, even if they don’t know of her attraction to her. She’s been burned for less.)

 

But _Kyle_ , Kyle just nods, a slow and sleepy motion as he listens. The house is so quiet, the sound of their breathing is evident in the air. There is no shock, no questions, he doesn’t even _react._ Misty feels the sense of relief flood her system as she lets her worry out with a long exhale.

 

“I’m thirsty.” Kyle does say, very to the point.  “Want to split a soda?” He asks.

 

Misty thinks about going back to the solitary of her room - of being alone in the dark. The idea by itself is too much, it flashes of classroom lights and science class goggles, so she shakes her head vigorously,  

 

“I’d like that.”

 

_.._

_“I would like to be your friend_

_To only have to see you smile_

_To notice every whim I oughta know you_

_Wanna be there in your view.”_

_.._

 

Kyle, it turns out, is a lot of _fun._ He doesn’t mind Stevie - he even hums off key, if she lets the album repeat itself for too long. Misty’s mornings without Cordelia fill themselves with classes, small and laid back summer lesson plans for only those who truly _want_ to learn about the magic of greenery. Her afternoons, wandering through the house on bare feet, are spent helping Kyle with his chores.

 

The girls - those who stayed over break - have their share of responsibilities, but the tougher jobs land in Kyle’s lap. This week alone, she’s helped him clear the clog in the kitchen sink, handing him wrenches at his request. There’d been a problem with the hot water heater, and her blue eyes looked over his shoulder as he relit the pilot light as she holds the flashlight. The nights bring movie marathons, falling asleep leaning against each other on the couch, blankets curled under Misty’s legs, Kyle’s head lolled to the side and his cheek pressed against the top of her head. Madison’s even noticed the switch, and her bitterness glazed her accusations like ice over the top of a pond.

 

“Are you two like a _thing_ now?” Misty’s hand stills, the milk pouring into her bowl of cereal dripping to a stop. _A thing?_ She isn’t sure what Madison implies, standing there with her hands on her hips and plucked eyebrows drawn together. Her rice krispies snap, crackle, pop on the table as Misty tilts her head. _That_ only furthers the other witch’s confusing anger, “Don’t play dumb, swampy. Are you fuck buddies with Kyle?”

 

A flush rises in her cheeks, the tip of her nose reddening, her ears turning crimson as the assumption, the suggestion that Madison believes. _Kyle,_ Misty’s lips turn down, _Kyle’s like a big puppy._ She’d never even _thought_ of him in that sense, not even when he was under her care.

 

Sure, she sleeps better at his side than alone. But there are still nightmares - the crawling, black oozing sensation of despair that runs into the cracks of her heart. Though, when she wakes up, and Kyle’s bleary eyes blink at her instead of Cordelia’s, she finds herself unable to push the darkness out as fast.

 

(Misty thinks, maybe, it’s because when Cordelia gathers her up in her arms and rocks them both softly in the middle of the night, there isn’t any _space_ for sadness in her heart. _Cordelia_ has a way of making it feel too full.)

 

“He’s hot, I understand it.” Madison waves her hand, a cigarette unlit but ready in between her fingertips. “But you guys look like you could be related, it’d be like kissing your brother.” A smirk crosses her face, eyes narrowing, “Of course, you are a backwoods hick, so it’s probably nostalgic. Or did daddy promise you to the town pig farmer for twelve goats and a tank of gas?”

 

Anger flooding her very being, Misty feels her teeth vibrating as her palms flatten against the smoothness of the tabletop. Her breakfast - without warning - hurling itself out of the bowl and showering the front of Madison’s figure with a mess of rice cereal and milk that wets her styled hair, drips from her chin and down the front of her dress. Madison _shrieks,_ a loud and undignified noise.

 

“You _bitch!”_ Madison’s shrill swearing, ringing through the air like a car alarm, it makes Misty laugh, unbothered by the loss of her breakfast. Madison’s manicured nails wipe at her dress, letting chunks of rice krispies fall to the floor of her fingers, “This is _Gucci,_ it costs more than your entire wardrobe!”

 

The sight of Madison, stomping out of the kitchen with promises rushing from her mouth of revenge is funny enough she retells the entire story to Kyle later, as they pop popcorn for their watch of _Transformers._ Misty doesn’t think she wants anything that Madison implied with him, but _this -_ sticking her cold toes under his thigh as they settle on the couch, passing their snacks back and forth. That other part of her is reserved for someone else completely.

 

_.._

_“I would like to be your chum_

_To hear you out and touch your trip before you have begun_

_Because I know you_

_Gonna be there in your view.”_

_.._

 

_“The national weather service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for the city of New Orleans, and the surrounding areas.”_ The television drones on, the weather man speaking with little emotion as the screen behind him plays short clips of red, yellows, and oranges passing over a satellite image of their city. Wind batters against the windows, it makes Misty bite her nails down further as rain pours down on the roof.

 

Misty Day - she loved storms, at one time. The way the thunder would shake the ground under her shack, rock her in her bed as she listened to the water run off the roof, down into the cracks and dribble into buckets set up to collect it from flooding the floor. But now, after failing the Seven Wonders, Misty flinches with each flash of lightning, each boom of thunder bouncing off the walls.

 

_I hope Cordelia’s okay,_ she thinks, and it feels foolish. _Cordelia’s in New York, you just talked to her this morning._ The older witch had been worried; the news of the oncoming storm reaching her, and a concern veiled her voice as she asked repeatedly if Misty was going to be fine.

 

(The first storm, after she’d come back, Misty didn’t get out of bed for two whole days. Burrowed into her blankets, only giving quick, to the point responses. Cordelia had been worried sick, so Zoe told her after, she’d cancelled her classes and paced the halls. After that, Cordelia always held her hand as it stormed, read aloud from her books to distract her from the sounds.)

 

So now, as the storm starts to bear down on New Orleans, on the Academy, Misty sits criss-cross on the sofa. Hands on her knees as the television breaks up, signal getting lost as the rain sounds itself in sheets from above. The lights are already off, so when the screen instead displays nothing instead of _signal lost,_ Misty bites her lip. The power’s out.

 

To calm her racing heart, Misty drags in fingers on the blanket draped across her lap, tracing patterns into the fabric she doesn’t take the time to plan out. _It’s just a storm,_ Misty reminds herself, _all the little critters are outside, not scared, and you’re shaking like a leaf in here._

 

Another _boom,_ Misty jumps slightly. Her music player is all the way upstairs, and having to climb all those steps is one that turns her stomach. So, she tries to fill her head with one thing that’s sure to calm her down. Cordelia’s features, the glint of her lip gloss. The way she mouths the words to herself as she reads, licks her finger before turning the page. Cordelia’s tongue, peeking out from behind her teeth as she cooks, so concentrated on the pots and pans in front of her she doesn’t notice Misty watching her.

 

Misty’s brought back to the present by someone lumbering up next to her - standing off to the side with a flashlight directed into her eyes. “Hey,” he greets, kindly moves the light from her face when she squints against it, “You okay?”

 

The rain hasn’t stopped, the lightning still illuminates the outside behind thick curtains, but Misty thinks _yes._ Because it might be a little frightening, but it’s the academy she’s in - the blanket in her lap, stolen from Cordelia’s room, smells of her perfume. “I’m okay, just a lil’ shaken, is all.”

 

“Storms.” Kyle nods, like that word itself emcompasses the entire stituation. Misty wonders if he too, gets scared in this weather, _does Zoe comfort him, like Cordelia does for me?_ “Never liked storms.” He finally adds, explaining his sour expression.

 

“I used to.” Misty tells him. She scoots over so he can sit, and opens her palm to receive the flashlight he hands over, “‘Specially after ‘em, when the grass would be singin’ under your feet, and the birds all dried themselves out in the sunshine.”

 

_That_ does make him smile, it does for her, too. Rain - although it’s arrival can disturb the peace of the Earth, making a ruckus as it showers down with little mercy on all God’s creations, the sun will shine brightly afterward. A rainbow will show itself in the sky, and the plants will sprout new branches of life. Kyle seems to understand her logic, his hands stop fidgeting with the denim of his jeans, “I used to make big - huge blanket forts. In my room.” He looks at his lap, “Didn’t feel as much like hiding, if you made it fun.”

 

_Blanket forts,_ Misty’s familiar with the concept; her mother had always forbid such games after she’d constructed a complex enough one the older, blonde woman had stumbled over it trying to get her ready for Sunday mass.  The bruises on her rear, shaped like thick, long stripes matching her father’s leather belt, stung each time she sat back down on them during the service.

 

Though the room is dark, Misty does have the light of the device in her hand. A smile curves her lips, dimples on display as she observes their surroundings, the backs of the seating, the blanket in her lap. Decorative pillows, printed with floral patterns, “I think you might’ve got a good idea, Kyle.”

 

Then, they set to work.

 

..

_“And there’s no task too big or small_

_You take the load and I’ll take the fall_

_There ain’t no thing I’d rather do than be there.”_

_.._

 

Empty cans of _Pepsi_ lay tipped over on the ground, scattered in between them as they lay on their backs, looking at the flashlight’s beams on the tented sheet above them. Stevie Nicks sings the beginning of _After the Glitter Fades,_ her records turning as the speakers kick to life. Misty’s hair fans around her head, like a halo of honey-gold that crowns her head.

 

The blankets provide an extra layer of soundproofing against the thunder, they cover the flashes of the window panels lighting up with lightning. Kyle’s shoulder lines up with her’s, though his height has his feet popping out from under their fort. Their breathing has warmed the inside up, heads buzzing with sugar rushes.

 

Misty closes her eyes, lets the smooth melody of Stevie’s music wash over her like the ocean on the shore. Turning up the sand of her soul and carrying it out to sea in the best of ways. _This was a good week,_ Misty thinks and a giddiness takes hold of her as it dawns on her, _Cordelia’s coming back tomorrow._

Kyle must sense it, his body nudges her in a question. “I was just thinkin’,” Misty says, the smile evident in her voice, “Miss Cordelia and Zoe are comin’ back _tomorrow._ It feels like it’s been so long.”

 

“Too long.” Kyle agrees, his hand raises, casts shadows onto the sheet above them. His eyebrows draw together, thinking out his motions; watching the shadow move with his fingers. _He misses Zoe,_ Misty can tell, sees the same sort of longing the clings to her own chest like a sticky mess of feelings. _At least,_ Misty doesn’t mean to be jealous, but the rotten emotion floods her anyway, _he gets to hold Zoe, do things I can only dream about with Cordelia._

 

_That’s not his fault,_ the reasoning part of her brain provides, _that you fell for the one woman who is completely off limits._

 

“Misty,” Kyle calls out to her, gets her off the dark path her mind can take. His hands, like her’s, have cheeto dust on the tips of each finger. His smile has evened out, very serious, suddenly. It makes Misty nervous, but she turns her head anyway, to look at him more properly. “Do you- Misty, do you like Cordelia?”

 

The choking sound of her breath stuttering overlays the noise of her record, of the thunder faintly outside. _Do you like Cordelia?_ Of course she does, but how he says it, it’s obviously not a simple _liking_ someone question. Her lungs feel both too big, and too small. Like there’s too much oxygen in her brain, but her heart struggles without it. Misty’s mouth opens, closes quickly. He notices her internal battle,

 

“It’s okay.” Kyle assures her, and it’s so _genuine,_ his kindness. He doesn’t push her, he lets her lay there, in the quiet. _Do you like Cordelia,_ it’s a very loaded question, but a simple one. Yes or no, not as complicated as Misty’s head spins it. Kyle comtemplates adding something, but he decides to, after a pause, “I think she likes you.”

 

That’s what does it, makes Misty’s eyes brim with tears - for once, not sadness fueled ones. _She likes you,_ it plays like a broken song, echoes back at itself over and over. “Kyle,” Misty whispers, light and scared; hands coming together to twirl the bulky rings on her fingers, “I think I might be falling in love with her.”

 

It feels like a bubble in her throat, like it refuses to come out easily, but the person besides her doesn’t get up, he doesn’t shift away, “I think I never did really _like_ boys, Kyle.”

 

“That’s cool.” He offers. _That’s cool._ It’s not a big, long line about his acceptance, it isn’t a condemning bible verse. It’s exactly what Misty needed, as her breathing finally comes back to her. The sheet above them sags, time bringing it slowly lower. “You should ask Cordelia out, when she comes home.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

..

_“Be there_

_Be there_

_Be there_

_Be there_

_In your view.”_

_.._

 

The car doors shutting outside have Misty jumping from her seat in the kitchen, feet sounding on the hardwood as she rushes out into the hall. Blue eyes dart to the foyer, to the solid door creaking open and Miss Cordelia - dressed much more casually than she left, in a black knee length skirt and long sleeve matching shirt - she’s _home._

 

“Misty!” Her voice calls out as soon as she spots her, standing at the end of the hall staring back. Cordelia’s bags _thump_ on the floor. Arms reach out and the wind from Cordelia’s lungs is knocked out of her from Misty’s momentum as she’s hugged, face burying in the softness of Cordelia’s conditioned, straightened hair. Cordelia, laughing at Misty’s eagerness (not at her, _never_ at her), lets her arms come around the other witch’s shoulders - “I missed you too!”

 

Next to them, Kyle lifts Zoe up in their own hug. Misty sees it out of the corner of her eye, her nose taking in the strong scent of Cordelia’s perfume; the fragrance overwhelming after a week of the same hints of roses and lilies on sheets and pillowcases. Her smile - when they finally pull back, makes Cordelia’s own wider.

 

“Hi.” Misty sighs, dreamily.

 

“Hi.” Cordelia repeats, she tucks a stray rebellious curl back behind Misty’s ear; lets her fingertips graze the shell of it. “I did miss you, you know.” Cordelia says it again, digits twirling in Misty’s hair, playing with the ends, “I got you a snowglobe, it has _Time’s Square_ in it, for your nightstand.”

 

“I already love it.” Misty’s head bobs even without seeing the thing, excited but not because of the gift. _She could get me an entire city, for all I care,_ Misty doubts the billboards are half as pretty as Cordelia’s eyes.

 

“Come on,” Cordelia urges, “I’m starving, and as much as I like pizza,” The older witch, she lowers her voice conspiratorially, her hands grabs for Mistys - to lead her to the kitchen, “It doesn’t beat red beans and rice.”

 

“Wait.” Misty halts her. Steps in front of Cordelia to block the way. Just over Cordelia’s shoulder, Kyle turns his head toward her; his goofy smile is accompanied by a thumbs up behind Zoe’s back. “Wait, Miss Cordelia.” The butterflies in her tummy feel more like gators - rolling and turning and biting at each other - it makes her hand sweat in Cordelia’s. _Does she notice that?_ It’s all Misty can focus on, the clamminess of her palm. “I was wonderin’ if you…”

 

“Hey,” Cordelia must sense her nerves, feel it roll of Misty’s body as her tongue struggles to form her words, “It’s okay. It’s just _me_.”

 

(The way she says it, _just me,_ like Cordelia isn’t the eighth wonder of the world. Like her words aren’t etched into golden tablets in Misty’s eyes, like she isn’t the most beautiful woman that Misty’s ever laid eyes on. Cordelia is never _just_ anything. That’s what gives Misty the courage - She would do anything, to call everything that Cordelia is _her’s.)_

 

“Would you like to go out with me, Miss Cordelia? To dinner?”

 

Cordelia’s hand squeezes her own, her eyes light up, reflecting the lights hanging above them from the ceiling. She looks a little shocked, _a little relieved._ Maybe Cordelia - _beautiful, wonderful, out-of-her league Cordelia -_ maybe she feels the same.

 

“I’d _love_ to go out with you, Misty.”

 


End file.
